


Sentiment

by LoopyLiesey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoopyLiesey/pseuds/LoopyLiesey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today is a day of emotional upheaval for John Watson, but Sherlock doesn't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentiment

“For Christ’s sake, Sherlock, one morning I’d like to open the fridge and not see body parts!” John yelled. Without waiting for any response from Sherlock, John stormed down the stairs and out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

Sherlock knew that the body parts bothered John, but not normally this much. In fact, he’d been quite relieved to find them after Sherlock had come back, which was something Sherlock had found interesting. He’d been so happy to have Sherlock back, to have Sherlock alive, that he was happy to have Sherlock’s most non-desirous habits back. Today was different.

John had woken up in a fairly bad mood, not acknowledging Sherlock as he walked into the living room to see Sherlock on his violin, which was odd for John. When Sherlock had glanced at him, John was wearing clothes slightly nicer than his every day clothes, as if he was going to be going on a date. If he was going on a date, it wouldn’t affect his reaction to seeing eyeballs in the refrigerator.

Just as Sherlock wondered if he was going to be reduced today to deducing what John’s problem was, his phone vibrated. He picked it up to see a message from Lestrade.

_56 year old woman, dead in her kitchen. Stab wounds. Last person to see her alive was her daughter – GL_

_A 5 at most. I’ll ask John – SH_

_No, Sherlock, don’t. Not today. Don’t bother him – GL_

Sherlock put his phone away. ‘Not today’? Today was important then. Was it John’s birthday? No, John had long accepted that Sherlock deleted dates like birthdays, deeming them unimportant.

He picked his violin up again and played one of his own compositions, letting time pass until he could see John again and see what else could point to why today was important.

“Is that one of yours?”

Sherlock looked over at the doorway to see John, holding himself stiffly. Wherever John had been, it was emotionally difficult for him, the way he was holding himself. There was a small amount of mud and grass on John’s shoes, and a stray leaf in the back of his hair. Outside, with trees. John’s face was impassive, but in a way that he was trying to keep his face clear of emotions.

“It is one of my compositions. When I was in the Czech Republic-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Sherlock,” John said wearily, “You don’t even k now what today is, do you?”

“It is a day of emotional difficulty, causing you to have a shorter temper than normal. You’ve been outside, did you know that there is a leaf in your hair? What I do not know is what day could be of emotional difficulty for you,” Sherlock said, furrowing his brow slightly.

“Surely you can deduce it,” John said scathingly.

“You’ve been to a cemetery,” Sherlock said.

“Got it in one,” John said, shaking his head, “Is there milk? I’m having tea.” John walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge, looking to see if there was milk while trying to ignore the eyeballs.

“Who died?” Sherlock asked, wondering if John had told him about a family member or friend who died, but if he had, Sherlock had deleted the information. The fridge slammed shut and John turned.

“Oh, I don’t know, Sherlock, who died? You should be particularly familiar with this death. Jesus, Sherlock, I know you don’t understand sentiment at the best of times, and maybe it was stupid, but I had hoped that you would’ve at least remembered today,” John exclaimed.

Ah. So that was what it was.

“I don’t understand, John, I’m alive,” Sherlock said, gesturing to himself.

“Yes, you are, and I’m glad you are, but for three years you were dead. I saw you jump off St. Bart’s. And even though you are here and alive and leaving bloody eyeballs in the refrigerator and shooting smiley faces into the wall, I still saw you die.”

Sherlock lay his violin down and walked over to John, unsure what he should do. He wasn’t familiar with sentiment or comforting people, but he knew he should at least attempt to. He tentatively put his arms around John, hugging him.

“You don’t have to do that, Sherlock,” John said, shaking his head, but he pulled Sherlock closer to him and hugged him tightly.

Sherlock didn’t always understand sentiment, but for John he would at least attempt to. 


End file.
